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The lace is soaked in me, my flesh sensitive. I feel hot and weak and on my second pass over my cloth-covered clit, I feel him.
Right in front of me.
Just below the stage and close to where I need him the most.
His breathing is harsh, and so is the slap to my thigh a second before his fingers dig in and bring me a hair’s breadth from his mouth. “And I have no qualms about ending the life of anyone that tries to hurt you, Twirl. You’re mine to love. Mine to protect.” Malcolm’s mouth growls this against my clit, the vibration causing me to shiver and for my eyes to close and body to tremble in need. “You’re mine to fuck, London. I own you.”
“As I own you,” I whisper, but he hears, grunting in approval as the bottom half of my bodysuit is torn off. The fabric stings as it’s pulled from my body, but that quickly turns into pleasure as his mouth returns to his altar. “Oh, God. Baby, I—”
“Just feel me. Give in to the pleasure only I can give.” His tongue slides across my sensitive bundle of nerves before slipping lower, lapping at my wetness. He’s holding me tight, fingers digging into my hips while devouring—eating me as a starved man would a piece of cake.
Malcolm is relentless, sucking my clit between his lips once, twice, and only letting me go to nip at the skin. It’s pleasurable pain. It’s electricity and at the same time it grounds me as my hips chase his tongue.
I hold no shame with him. I love him with the same animalistic urgency and hold on to his hair while riding his tongue.
With just a few swipes, I’m close. Not yet.
“Fuck, Twirl,” he grunts, the hand that was on my right hip now grips my asscheek roughly. Almost painfully. He kneads the flesh, jiggling it before slipping between my thighs from behind, passing right over the crack—from my back entrance to slit and back up again once his fingers are soaked. “Give me what’s mine. Feed me.”
Malcolm doesn’t enter me; he slowly swipes across each entrance, dipping the tip of a finger before continuing his trek to the other. My eyes close. My walls clench.
“Malcolm, we need to—”
“Come for me.” At his rough command, my thighs shake and I throb, physically pulse for him, but before I come, I roughly pull myself away.
“Not yet.”
“Twirl.” The way my nickname comes from him is sinful. A wicked caress of my senses, but I take another step back before he can reach for me. “Come here.”
“Go sit.” His heavy-lidded eyes watch me for a second, his tongue licking my wetness from his bottom lip—a quick swipe he savors. The action alone causes my thighs to clench once more. “Sit, and hands atop the armrest. Keep them there, or I’ll stop again.”
“As you wish.” Malcolm follows my instruction, sitting atop his throne with his legs partially spread and chest on display. He’s strong and beautiful. I’m a lucky woman. “Now, your terms.”
I clear my throat and meet his eyes, taking in the amusement in them. He’s cocky, and I’m not ashamed of what I feel for him. How attractive I find him. “Conduct all business outside the US and nothing can be traced back to Chicago. I don’t want anything touching us here. Not so much as a friendly visit.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
He’s silent for a beat. Thinking. Planning.
“Agreed.” Malcolm knows me well enough that when I ask for something, there’s a reason behind it. He also doesn’t ask why. He trusts me.
“Thank you.” On my end, I feel relief, so much so that I lower myself onto the stage and crawl down to him over the rose petals.
This is his reward and the first part of my present. I’m going to give him the little fantasy he let slip a few months back.
Sure, we’ve had sex in every room of our house and in every car. We’ve devoured each other in exotic destinations and in his office.
He’s watched me dance in this room.
He’s taken me on the side of the road after impatiently tossing me over his shoulder, leaving this mansion, and heading for our home.
But never here. Never in that chair.
4
SHE’S MY HEAVEN.
